


Dynamic Melody

by AlexNow



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: M/M, Rich/Poor Relationship, Street Musician
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-09
Updated: 2013-01-09
Packaged: 2017-11-24 07:59:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/632200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexNow/pseuds/AlexNow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <span class="small">Brendon Urie's eyes fall on a certain humble street-musician and goes against everything he was taught.</span>
  <br/>
  <i>'Fags go to Hell.'</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dynamic Melody

If all our life is but a dream. Fantastic posing greed, then we should feed our jewelry to the sea for diamonds do appear to be just like broken glass to me.

x~x~x~x

"Sweetheart, I know you don't want to go but you know your grandfather's very sick."

"But, moooom. You know I hate going to Grandpa's house. It stinks of cigarettes and…dust. I mean, it's his fault he's sick. We told him to stop drinking and smoking but he didn't listen. He's gonna die anyway…"

"Brendon!"

"What?! It's the truth!"

"Darling, please. It's the least you could do. I have to stay to take care of your younger brothers and your father works all day. And it's always your older brother doing me all the favors. You know he's always there to help-"

"It's always about Dallin, isn't it! He's has always been the son you've always wanted and the rest of us were just an ACCIDENT!"

"Brendon, you know it isn't like that! I love you all equally and-"

"Bullshit."

SLAM.

"Stupid mom. Stupid Dallin. Stupid Grandpa. Stupid dad. Stupid, stupid, stupid!" Brendon muttered under his breath. The woman aside of him stared at him from the corner of her eye nervously and backed away ever so slightly, trying to make sure he doesn't notice. It was like if he was a bomb ready to tick off.

The bus station wasn't very full as it usually is. There were few people sitting in the blue benches waiting for their bus to arrive and take them to their destination. Most of them old people or a poor family with numerous kids. Brendon grimaced.

What was he doing here again? Ah, right. He was forced to come by his dear mother and take care of his grandpa for the day. But, why couldn't he drive himself again? He is seventeen anyway, old enough to gain his driver's license.

Well, his dad doesn't trust him enough to be responsible to drive alone.

That's right, even though he's the second oldest of the Urie kids, he still hasn't earned his father's trust. Dallin had it all.

Suddenly, a bus arrived to park right in front of Brendon, where the bus that was supposed to be going to his grandpa's town was supposed to be. A couple of people started filing in and handing their tickets to the woman before going in and disappearing through the doors.

…

"Ticket."

Brendon stared at her before sliding his hand in his back pocket of his tight pants and handing her his ticket.

"It's fine." She said solemnly and returned his ticket. He restrained himself from saying a smart-ass comment and settled for just rolling his eyes and crumbling his ticket back into his pocket.

Brendon pushed his way through the people putting his stuff in the small storage place on top of their seats and used his bag with his stuff to shove people in his way. Not even caring when he shoved an old man and almost made him fall and have a heart attack.

"Is this seat taken?"

Brendon looked up and saw an old man with a cane and shook his head, pressing the back of his knees to the edge of the seat to let the man pass and sit next to the window. Brendon preferred the aisle and he sure as hell wouldn't move just for an old crinkly man.

"What is a young man like you doing here alone?" The man suddenly asked, after a long while waiting for the bus to actually move. Brendon turned his head to face him, surprised, and shrugged.

"Going out of the city." Brendon responded. The man nodded slowly.

"Aren't you old enough to drive?" He asked. Brendon grimaced.

Aren't you old enough to die?, He didn't say.

"I haven't had driving lessons yet." He responded.

"I suppose this is your first time being near public transportation?" He said. Brendon's eyebrows furrowed.

"How'd you know?" He asked. The man smiled.

"You look fine enough to be higher than low class." He responded.

"Yeah, well, I'm not supposed to be here. I have enough money to hire a chauffeur." Brendon muttered, turning back to watch people rush in at the last minute and find seats. He heard the man sigh but didn't turn around.

"Not all of us are rich, kid. Some barely have enough money to buy a soda."

x~x~x~x

Fifteen minutes. Fifteen fucking minutes.

It took a total of fifteen minutes of delay for the driver of the bus to shit whatever he ate for breakfast and come back.

In other words, fifteen minutes more for his grandpa to start yelling at him. Sick, ready to die, but Papa Urie can still be a pain in the ass.

Brendon wasn't looking forward to it. He just slumped in his seat and grumbled profanes under his breath as the older man aside of him stared out the window, his cane leaning on him.

Every once in a while the bus would stop and a couple of people would climb in and Brendon would just hold his backpack tighter.

Rich boy scared to be in the same room (or bus) as lower class people, since his parents taught him all of them were low in manners and complete thieves.

But all too sudden the bus made an abrupt halt, making Brendon hit his forehead on the back of the seat in front of him and he clutched his now red temple with his hands.

"Shit." He hissed and leaned over to the side so his head peeked through the lone aisle, ready to give his best glare at the next person who entered that door.

A pale hand gave the driver money and the driver deposited it in the drink holder. The figure finally came into view and Brendon's eyes widened, his hand still on his forehead.

There, in the very front of the bus was a boy, maybe a year older than Brendon. Tall, pale, and dangerously skinny in ragged clothes and a dirty hat on his head that pressed his damp auburn hair to his scalp. His lips were pressed in a hard line and he positioned his guitar, ready to play as the bus driver began driving and made the bus jump. The boy didn't seem fazed and didn't stumble to stay on his feet. His eyes just stared at the floor.

"Kid, it's nice to see you again!" The old man aside of Brendon surprised him by yelling at the boy. The boy looked up and stared at the old man beside Brendon before giving a curt nod in knowledge.

"You know him?" Brendon whispered to the man, leaning over to him. The man nodded and grinned.

"He's one of those homeless kids living in the streets. Plays his old guitar in this bus at the exact time every day. Never misses once," The old man watched the boy oddly as the boy strummed each note, making sure it was tuned. Brendon just stared at the man, "I've offered him my couch a couple of times but he never responds. He refuses to talk to anyone."

Brendon, seeming satisfied with the response, followed the man's gaze and turned back to the boy, who had just stopped testing his guitar. He cleared his throat and started strumming, oh, ever so delicately. Brendon found himself staring at the boy's long, gentle fingers play a unique melody.

The boy slowly parted his lips and Brendon found himself surprised and awed by the way his voice hung in the air.

And then she said she can't believe, genius only comes along in storms of fabled foreign tongues. Tripping eyes, and flooded lungs. Northern downpour sends its love.

x~x~x~x

His eyes stared at the ground as he passed through the whole aisle with his hat taken out, receiving money from those kind ones. Just as he headed for the door of the bus to exit with a somewhat full hat full of quarters–where the bus driver knew he was always left at- Brendon caught hold of his wrist. The boy turned around and Brendon stared at his beautiful greenish brown eyes, before giving him a grin.

"Hey, you forgot my tip." And he flicked a 50 dollar bill into the young boy's hat. The boy's eyes widened and his eyes moved from the hat to Brendon, again and again.

Brendon restrained a sigh, what did he just do? Those were all his savings of the month and he just gave it all away to a complete stranger.

But for a good cause.

The boy opened his mouth as if to say thank you but as soon as he realized what he was about to do he closed it again. The bus driver began yelling at them to hurry up but it seemed to be background music, no one wanting to knowledge him.

"So what's your name?" Brendon asked casually, but when he noticed the boy's eyes widen, his eyes widened as well as he noticed how brutal he had been with the simple question.

The boy's breathing quickened and he immediately tried to break free from Brendon's hold, but Brendon held tight. Then, his long brown jacket pulled up and Brendon saw some marks, barely noticeable. Right on the boy's wrist, scars to be exact.

From the shock Brendon's hold loosened and the boy ran away, the bus doors sliding, slowly closing Brendon's view of the broken boy running away with his hat in hand, never looking back.

Hey moon, please forget to fall down. Hey moon, don't you go down.

Sugarcane in the easy morning. Weathervanes my one and lonely.

x~x~x~x

"Brandon, hurry up! Those cookies aren't going to walk over here themselves!" Papa Urie's sharp, raspy voice rang though the door of his room, where he was lying. Brendon grimaced and opened the door, tray of chocolate cookies in hand.

"Brendon, grandpa. My name's Brendon." He said, putting the tray on the small coffee table aside his bed. Unusual. The old man gave him the stink-eye.

"What did you say?" He asked. Brendon sighed.

"I'm not Brandon. My name's Brendon, Apa."

"Nothing, just as I thought." Replied the old man, taking a cookie and plopping it into his mouth. Brendon huffed and muttered an excuse for leaving. Using the garden as an justification.

As he left, his grandfather carefully eyed him, taking in his grandon's every move, before sighing. He knew that attitude. He'd experienced it many times in the past.

Every time he saw his sweet wife hurting.

x~x~x~x

There's at least one reason Brendon enjoyed coming here to this old cabin. Granny Urie's garden. Full of fruits, veggies and beautiful flowers. And just before her death she had made sure it was secure and nice enough to stay in the hands of her husband.

Brendon ignored the white bench under the tall shady trees and walked straight to the perfect spot next to it, plopping on the green grass and lying down, tucking his arms under his head and staring at the tree above him. The wind's strength that caused the leaves to rustle make his mind wonder.

The past weeks. Crazy. Unusual. And horrible.

He'd been forced to come take care of Papa Urie every day for the past two weeks. Not that he didn't mind. His grandfather was the least of his worries.

The boy troubled him more.

He let his memories fill his mind at once. And with all the silence around him, it felt as if he were reliving them once again.

Cutting down to the first part, just the day after Brendon found those marks on his skin and couldn't sleep, thinking in all the possible ways he could have gotten them, refusing to accept the fact he could have done it to himself.

Just after he saw the boy run away with the money, afraid of what might happen next now that Brendon knew the truth. A complete stranger.

After the boy didn't perform for three days, and even the old man he met in the bus last time got worried. 'The young man never misses once. He hasn't in three years that he's been here', he had said.

~When the boy returned on a Wednesday, refusing to look in Brendon's direction, playing a new song. Taking off his hat again and passing it through the aisle. The boy had made a huge mistake in locking eyes with Brendon, just after the rich boy had put another 20 dollars into his hat. Because Brendon saw all the pain locked inside and decided he wasn't going to give up.

~On Thursday morning. Back into the bus and ready. Brendon watched him play again. The usual routine. The boy played and sang. Received money from the kind ones. Brendon deposited a great amount of his money to help the boy out. But only this time just as the boy exited the bus with the money and his guitar, Brendon followed behind, yelling frantically and waving his arms in the air, looking like a moron. But Brendon didn't care.

The boy had quickly noticed him, and took off running.

Brendon was faster.

"Hey! Dude! I mean to harm! HEY! Wait up!"

The boy didn't listen. Not until Brendon caught him by the wrist once again, and he winced. Remembering. Brendon panted out his first words.

"Why do you run away from me?"

The boy glared at him and before Brendon knew what was happening, a pack of knuckles were being buried into his cheek. And a red river of liquid started flowing out of his nose.

The boy ran away.

~On Friday Brendon didn't think the boy would show up in the bus. He thought wrong.

The boy wrote him a song. Brendon just knew it was for him. And knew what it was.

"Watch your mouth. Because your speech is slurred enough. That you just might swallow your tongue. I'm sure you'd want, want to give up the ghost…with just a little more poise than that."

The lyrics practically screamed it.

My father and alcohol.

Brendon had a similar problem.

My father and religion.

The ink is running toward the page. It's chasin' off the days.

Brendon didn't try anything this time.

~Saturday. Brendon eagerly waited for the boy to go on the bus, with his usual guitar.

He looked different.

Brendon stared at him for a long while before his eyes widened as he finally noticed what was always obvious in his eyes, but denied to knowledge.

Bruises.

Through playful lips made of yarn. That fragile Capricorn. Unraveled words like moths upon old scarves.

The boy quickly left the bus after quickly receiving money before Brendon could react, refusing to meet eyes with him. It made Brendon mad. Sorry. It was what his actions said. He had nothing to ask forgiveness for.

~Sunday was different, at least. The boy's bruises on his face were still there, no contradicting it. But as soon as he played another song, Brendon followed him silently out of the bus –taking another one to Papa Urie's wouldn't be a problem- in his black hoodie under the cloudy sky, his hands stuffed his pockets in order to stop the raindrops from hitting skin.

The boy seemed to notice, but didn't do anything, just kept walking. They walked and walked through lonely streets and paths, the boy leading the way and Brendon following closely behind.

The boy stopped in front of an abandoned building, which was left by in the middle of construction.

The boy walked towards a thin blanket on the floor and a jacket and stood next to it, facing Brendon as if to say 'This is my home'. For once in his life, Brendon was in loss for words.

I know the world's a broken bone. But melt your headaches, call it home.

~Monday again. Brendon was in a bad mood. And when Brendon was in a bad mood he had a horrible temper.

His mother had pissed him off again, and all thanks to Dallin. Since, according to Mr. and Mrs. Urie, absolutely never lies.

The first thing the boy did as he stepped on the bus was look for Brendon throughout all the typical elder passengers in the bus, and paid the driver, recalling the events of the day before. It wasn't hard finding him, seeing as Brendon sulked in his usual seat, arms crossed and glaring at the ground.

The boy pursed his lips. Brendon didn't even look up when he felt the boy's stare. Just continued sending daggers at the floor.

Even when he remembered what happened on Sunday with the boy. Really it wasn't anything, but at the same time it was everything.

They had just sat on the cold floor while it rained, each on either side of the boy's 'bed', not even facing each other. Just content with listening the raindrops fall onto the pavement with a splash.

Out of all the things he wanted to ask and say, Brendon felt confused.

The boy started to play and Brendon frowned as he recognized the same song from the first day he met the boy.

"I missed your skin when you were east."

The boy left the bus quietly; a bit too silent when he noticed Brendon was ignoring him. Confused, he was. But he refused to feel upset for someone else. He cared for no one.

But Brendon, realizing what he just did, found himself yelling at the driver to stop and hopped off the bus, running after the boy.

"Hey! Please wait… I'm sorry."

The boy let Brendon know he forgave him by offering to stay in his home again for a while. In silence. Sometimes you don't need words to express yourself.

~Tuesday came and went, a bit too slowly for Brendon's liking because he didn't get to see the boy in the bus. Because he took a different one that way, since his grandfather wanted him at his house earlier to help him clean up.

~Wednesday again. Brendon was impatient when he saw a familiar skinny figure start playing. He didn't even look up to see if Brendon was there, like he usually would to grab reassurance from Brendon. 'Everything's gonna be alright.', Brendon's stare would say. He just played and picked up money, never spotting the desperate 17 year old who yearned to see those gorgeous brown-green eyes.

Instead of going home like he usually would after going to his grandfather's, at eight o'clock Brendon walked through the lonely streets and found himself walking into the old building, facing the trembling freezing boy on the ground wrapped in the blanket. The boy looked up and Brendon's breathing hitched as their eyes connected.

"You're late."

Mom, I'm staying at a friend's house. I'll go to Papa's house from here so you probably won't see me 'till 9:00 pm tomorrow. Don't worry. I'm fine, by the way.

And didn't know what to think as they wrapped themselves in the blanket at night with the boy's face buried into his chest, sleeping. It was a bit uncomfortable in jeans but he didn't care as he breathed in the boy's sweet, delicious smell. And it just felt right. It was against all Brendon was taught.

Fags go to hell.

~The best thing that had ever happened to Brendon was called Thursday. Brendon woke up with Ryan is his arms, just as they had fallen asleep after Ryan had mumbled his name before fainting into sleep.

He woke up at about eight on the morning but didn't move until ten o'clock, when Ryan finally woke up. Brendon didn't ever want to move from the pleasing position.

Ryan buried in his chest, legs tangled with Brendon's and Brendon's arm subconsciously wrapped loosely around Ryan's waist.

So this is how heaven is.

Ryan had other ideas.

"Morning." Brendon had greeted him as he saw Ryan crack an eye open. Ryan responded with a grunt and squeezing his eyes closed, the sunlight burning his eyes. Brendon almost laughed.

"What are you still doing here?" Ryan whispered. Brendon's eyebrows furrowed.

"What? You thought I'd leave?" He asked. Ryan shrugged and, against Brendon's wishes, wriggled out of their somewhat embrace.

"Wanna go eat?" Brendon yawned, stretching his arms out and rubbing his eyes with his fists, despite the fact that he woke up a long time ago. Ryan blinked.

"Eat?"

Brendon stared at him. "Yeah. You know, when you put food into your mouth, taste it, chew and swallow." Ryan rolled his eyes.

"I know what that is." He said in a soft voice. Brendon grinned.

"I don't know about you, but I believe we get hamburgers."

-Same Day-

"Stay."

Ryan's voice was so delicate and vulnerable. Brendon broke for him.

"Again?" He asked. Not that he minded. He had just come back from Papa's house and came to say goodbye to Ryan after having a wonderful time with him until 2:00 pm, when he needed to be on his way to Papa's. Brendon felt he needed to say goodbye before boarding on the bus to leave back with his parents.

"Yes." Ryan responded simply.

"Are you sure, Ryro?" Brendon had decided to give Ryan Ross a nickname after a day of knowing his name.

Ryan gave his signature smile -making Brendon stare for a long while- and stood up from the ground, where he had been so peacefully sitting, Indian style.

Brendon followed Ryan's every move cautiously as he moved closer and his eyes widened as Ryan's lips connected with his own.

"Aren't I always?"

~Friday was what Brendon thought of as a treat (revenge) for God for giving Brendon such a wonderful day. Such a wonderful kiss…

Thursday was the perfect day. Friday was anything but good.

Brendon had decided to tell his parents the truth about him.

That Brendon Boyd Urie was gay.

Or at least bi-sexual.

Either one, it meant the same for the Urie family.

You are a failure.

After endless hours of having his mother cry and his father yell at him many cusses Brendon didn't even know existed as his brothers and sisters locked themselves in their rooms, Brendon stomped up to his room and collected a backpack, filling it with clothes and a notebook with a pen. His guitar in his other arm.

At three in the morning Brendon walked into his youngest siblings' room and kissed the top of their sleeping heads, whispering a last 'I Love You' before walking out of their room.

Only the small 5 year old girl managed to wake up in time as Brendon walked out the door for the last time.

"I love you too, Brenny."

Brendon took two hundred dollars from his father's 'man-bag' before he ran out into the cold street. It wasn't stealing, it was his dad, and either way it wouldn't matter. His family had a lot more money to spend on useless things.

He didn't think as he got on a bus.

Didn't think twice as he paid the same ticket he used to get on the way to his grandfather's house.

And he definitely didn't regret walking into the old building to find Ryan sleeping on the floor, taking the very thick, warm and heavy bed cover from his backpack and putting it over Ryan's trembling form.

Didn't even restrain himself to 'be a man' as the moment Ryan's eyes opened, tears burst out of his eyes and Ryan held him as he cried.

"Sh," Ryan whispered and held Brendon tighter, "Whatever happened, I'm here, Bren. I always will be."

~Saturday, Brendon woke up wrapped perfectly in the heavy bed cover. And, thankfully, he wasn't alone. Ryan stared at him, looking like a sex-god and leaning against wall with a hint of warmth in his eyes.

"Hey." Brendon greeted, his voice croaked. Ryan sighed and shook his head.

"You alright?" He asked. Brendon stared at him. Ryan nodded.

"Right."

"What time is it?" Brendon asked as he scratched between his eyes. Ryan rolled his eyes.

"I'm not the one with a cellphone." He said. Brendon frowned and reached for the backpack, grabbing his sidekick and his eyes widening at the time.

"One thirty?!" He said. Ryan shrugged.

"You were tired… with yesterday. I didn't want to wake you up." He responded softly. Brendon gave him a watery smile.

"Thanks." He whispered. Ryan's eyebrows furrowed.

"For what?" He asked. Brendon sighed and forced his eyes to look up to Ryan.

"For putting up with me." He murmured. Ryan shook his head furiously.

"It's not 'putting up with you', as you put it, if I kind of enjoy being with you." He replied. Brendon let out a humorless laugh.

"Huh."

"Talking about yesterday, what the hell happened?" Ryan asked. Brendon pursed his lips and felt his shoulders shrug.

"I made my parents get mad. My mom started crying, while my dad shouted at me and cussed in ways I didn't find possible. I couldn't take it anymore so I ran away. Here was the only place I could think of." Brendon tried his best to make it seem as if it didn't matter anymore, but the look on Ryan's face let him know he wasn't fooling anyone.

"And…?"

"My father practically told me I was a piece of shit and I deserved to go to Hell, for all he cared. I was everything he didn't want anyone of my siblings to be. We are a religious mess." He shook his head and huffed, squeezing the piece of fabric that was in his hand. Ryan still didn't seem to get to where Brendon was going. Brendon seriously thought Ryan needed to at least try to pay attention to the details someday.

"What'd you do to get them mad?" Ryan asked stupidly. Brendon grumped, frustrated.

"For fucking Pete's sake! I told my parents I was gay, Ryan. Brendon Urie went gay for you, okay? I've turned into a complete fag, even after being in a Mormon family, for that fucking hot mess I like to call George Ryan Ross. Fuck."

Brendon didn't know what to do as Ryan stared at him with his mouth agape. Shit. Did he just declare himself?

Ryan's eyes slowly turned dark and before he could do anything, he was thrown on the floor and Ryan's mouth was feverishly attacking Brendon's mouth, before trailing kisses down Brendon's body.

And let's just leave it to the fact that Ryan later had to force Brendon up to get dressed or they'd die of hunger. Brendon brought Ryan back on the floor to get intertwined in the bed cover after eating at Subway, moaning out Ryan's name as loud as he pleased. Neither will ever be virgins again.

X~X~X~X

Brendon was snapped out of his thoughts with the sound of footsteps coming his way and instead of facing his memories that were still in the back of his mind, he found himself facing the tree over himself again, small streaks of sunlight breaking through the tall tree's branches and falling over his body. Brendon didn't look up as the footsteps came closer and he knew his grandfather wouldn't get up from bed at this hour.

Ryan grinned down at him, his eyes projecting a sense of confusion.

"What are you doing here alone?" He asked. Brendon rolled his eyes.

"I'm not alone. Don't you see? I have my imaginary friend right here, beside me." And Brendon patted the empty space beside him. Ryan muttered something and he pursed his lips in order to try and stop grinning, which was impossible. There was nothing about staring at Brendon that didn't want to make him scream in joy. Ryan wasn't like this before. What was this Urie boy doing to him?

"Anyway, Bren. Your grandfather wants to talk to you. Something about us staying here. You don't think he's finally going to kick us out, right?" Ryan's voice showed his silent fear. Brendon jumped to his feet and he pressed his lips to Ryan's temple, holding him.

"Don't worry, Ryro. Papa Urie can be a pain but he's still a man with a big heart. He wouldn't do that." He reassured. Ryan slowly nodded.

"Do you think your dad knows we're here?"

Brendon shook his head. "No, he never talks to my granddad and wouldn't come here to visit even if his life depended on it. They don't get along very well."

"What about work? Do you think he believes we get a real one? To help him out? I mean, it'd be logical, Bren. He's already giving us a place to live, food and pretty much a life to live. And what about my parents? Are they near? What if they find me? Hell, what if they find us?" Ryan sounded very anxious and if made Brendon stress.

"Ryan, calm down! First, my grandfather wouldn't do that. Remember who we're talking about? He probably just wants me to go buy milk. You're safe, okay?" He cupped Ryan's cheeks in his hands, "Ryan. You. Are. Safe. George fucking Ross is nowhere near and he won't hurt you again. I won't let him. He'd have to kill me before that happens."

Ryan's eyes widened.

"Oh my god. What if he does?! God, Brendon, what if-"

Brendon cut him off with a kiss.

"Just, shut up, Ryan. I love you, remember? And we'll still have our job. We, Ryan and Brendon, will still be the musicians of the buses here in Summerlin that everyone knows about. No one will change that and I sure as hell won't trade it for anything." Brendon said, putting authority in his voice. Ryan stared at him.

"Why?"

Brendon grinned.

"Because I absolutely love my grouchy, cranky boyfriend." He said. Ryan's ripped out of Brendon embrace and crossed his arms stubbornly.

"I am not grouchy!" He bellowed. Brendon's raised an eyebrow.

"Point proved."

Ryan opened his mouth to give another of his smart-ass comments only Ryan Ross could pull off but another voice won him.

"BRANDON! WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU! THE COOKIE TRAY IS STARTING TO IRRITATE ME!"

Ryan grinned and squeezed Brendon's hand, who squeezed back.

"You were right."

Brendon stared at him.

"I usually am, but about what now?" He asked. Ryan seemed so enlightened at the moment, that he even excused Brendon's cockiness.

You clicked your heels and wished for me.

"About... everything." Ryan said. Brendon blinked.

"A grouchy asshole, for a boyfriend? No exaggeration taken." Brendon said, not even bothering to stay serious when Ryan glared at him and gave him 'the' finger.

"Forget it." He muttered, letting go of Brendon's hand and walking off. Brendon pouted.

"Ryro," He whined, "I was just kidding," He said, "Talk to me. Please?"

Ryan snorted and didn't stop walking or look back.

Brendon sighed as he saw Ryan disappear through the back doors. Fuck. He was in trouble, wasn't he? Brendon couldn't live without Ryan's lips. Fuck, those lips.

Brendon ran behind Ryan, ready to even go on his knees in order to hold his boyfriend in his arms in forgiveness for his stupidity and childness, that was sure to never be get rid of. Brendon snatched his guitar that was near the pool and began playing while running, a hard task.

"Well he was just hanging around, then he fell in love. And he didn't know how. But he couldn't get out. Just hanging around, then he fell in love."


End file.
